At the th..th..th..third st..st..st..strohfuckit.

Chill, man, who cares what time it is? Put down the phone, walk barefoot through the grass, turn on, tune in, drop out.

The big hand is pointing somewhere between the twelve and the one, the little hand is pointing somewhere between the three and the six. So it must be twenty past twelve. or so. ish.

At the third stroke it will be three eighty-six and ninety seconds.

At the third stroke, Mr. Bond, the device will detonate. Say your prayers, 007.